"What the fuck have you done lately?"
The man blinked and quickly looked around the small room of his second-story apartment. Seeing nobody, he shook his head and let out a deep sigh.
"Who was I talking to?"
Wesley Gibson let out another sigh as he took his shoulder from his father's antique rifle. Standing, he picked the customized long gun from its stand and carried over to the secret room in his closet. As he set about disassembling the weapon, his thoughts turned to the recent events of his life. Going from lowly desk drone to adrenaline-fueled member of a secret guild of assassins to rogue bent on destroying said organization had been a drastic shift, to say the least.
Still, Sloane was dead, his father was avenged, and the Fraternity was all but gone. Wesley sighed dejectedly as he finished cleaning and stowing the rifle. Stepping from the room and closing the door, he once again glanced around the cramped apartment. His father had lived here. A father he'd never known. A father he'd been mind-fucked into killing by that asshole, Sloane, and Fox.
With a aggravated snort, Wesley shook his head as he turned to the door out of the apartment. On the way out, he picked a pistol up to slip into the holster within his coat. The ivory colored handle glistened in the low light. Memories of the gun's previous owner flooded his mind as his eyes traveled over the intricate designs etched into the slide and barrel.
"She's dead. Get over it."
With that, he opened the door and walked out...
Only to bump into someone on the top step of his two-story staircase. His eyes caught sight of black hair and lightning-bolt shaped scar before his gun was out and the barrel was planted between the emerald eyes of a startled teenager.
"Who the fuck are you?" demanded Wesley, thumbing back the pistol's hammer.